


Bedroom Hymns

by EllenJai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bedroom Hymns - Florence + The Machine, Light Angst, M/M, Smut, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6381568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenJai/pseuds/EllenJai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm not here looking for absolution, because I found myself an old solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedroom Hymns

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: This fic is old, and I'm three seasons behind, and I have a lot of headcanons. If anything is wrong/different regarding canon, that's why.
> 
> ANOTHER, LESS IMPORTANT, NOTE: I don't actually really...edit my own writing mostly because I tend to drastically change things when I do, and I need to stop doing that, so if there;s any glaring mistakes.... Also, it's probably terrible in general but I liked it when I wrote it and so I'm posting it without looking at it.
> 
> ANOTHER NOTE, NOT IMPORTANT AT ALL: I don't care if no one does songfics anymore. I do and I like them.  
> Enjoy.

_this is as good a place to fall as any;_  
 _we’ll build our altar here_  
 _make me your maria;_  
i’m _already on my knees_

 

Castiel wanted nothing more than to forget Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man; Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword; Dean Winchester, the most terrifying hunter known to monsters and other things that go bump in the night;

…Dean Winchester, Castiel’s human charge and, ultimately, his human downfall.

Castiel was an angel, and angel of the Lord, loyal servant to God and no one else.

But Dean Winchester had changed that.

His downfall began in Hell – no, the moment he’d been given his assignment. He’d been so proud, so willing; he’d been foolish, really. He’d wanted so badly to follow his orders, be a good little soldier. He’d wanted to ascend into something, he’d wanted to be remembered, and saving Dean Winchester’s soul from Hell was how he was going to do it.

In hindsight, Castiel realized he’d never been as good a soldier as he thought.

The memory was still clear as day, even as Castiel’s borrowed grace faded, even as he became more and more human. His angelic power was draining, but that memory would never leave him; it was imprinted onto his soul, much like his handprint was on Dean’s.

It was terrifying, at first. Castiel was a soldier, had gone to war for God on more than one occasion, but even he was not prepared for Hell. It was dark, and bleak, and despite all of the human notions, it was cold. Not cold as in chilly, or like when your clothes are wet and you can’t get dry (a sensation that Castiel was all too familiar with, several human years after Hell), but as in absent. There was a total absence of not just heat, but kindness, love, light; everything Castiel knew as good was nowhere to be found, not even in the souls that hadn’t broken yet.

Castiel still shivered when he thought of it. The very memory made his skin crawl, made his vessel…made his body, he corrected, his _body,_ it made every muscle ache and contract until he was frozen, rigid and horrified.

The memory continued, of course, and from his first impressions of cold, it became colder. Colder, and violent; he still shuddered at some of the things he’d seen – of all the things he’d seen humanity do, the things he’d seen their souls do in Hell were so much worse. His grace had nearly glowed red by the time he’d found Dean’s soul.

That was the clearest part of the memory, and Castiel wished he could forget why.

Dean’s soul was so, so bright. It practically called to him, in the darkness, once he got close enough; even though it was broken, and Dean was broken. Despite the horrific things that had been done to him, and that he’d done himself, Dean still shone like a beacon for Castiel. From the moment Castiel touched him, grasped his soul to save him, he’d known he was lost.

He was lost in Dean from the moment his soul touched Castiel’s grace. He could still feel the way that Dean’s soul had practically clung to him – he remembered feeling shaken, trembling, as he dragged them both out of Hell. He could still feel the way Dean’s touch burned at the same time it soothed; still feel the overwhelming need to protect, to heal. Castiel wanted it to just be his angelic instinct, his binding to God that made him feel like that toward Dean. But Castiel had always been a terrible liar, most of all to himself.

He was lost to Dean Winchester, and nothing was going to change that.

He’d tried to fight it, of course. Dean was his charge, but nothing more. Dean was human, and he was flawed, and he was really nothing more than a tool of his own destiny – he was meant to be Michael’s vessel, to bring about the end of the world. He was a part of God’s plan, Castiel’s to protect until the time came for Michael to take over and Dean to die.

He should have known that Dean wouldn’t let that happen. He should have known that Dean would fight, and keep fighting. Castiel had put him together from the broken shreds of his soul, rebuilt him into the exact same man he’d always been, minus some of the damage his body had incurred, and he should have known.

He should have known that once Dean grabbed onto him, neither of them were ever going to let go.

 

 _you had jesus on your breath,_  
 _and_ i _caught him in mine_  
 _sweating our confessions;_  
 _the undone and the divine_

 

Dean wanted to hate Castiel.

He wanted to look at the almost-not-angel with disgust – he wanted to be willing to take an angel blade to his chest, to watch him die, to sneer at the black marks his wings would leave on the pavement.

But he couldn’t, and the idea of ever feeling like that towards Castiel made his stomach turn. He knew he _should_ hate him, but for everything they’d gone through because of him, Dean couldn’t do it. And he knew that Castiel felt the same. He was sure of it; sure that Castiel wanted to hate him just as badly, but couldn’t make himself act on it.

Neither of them could ever stop coming back.

Dean wished that it had been a stronger angel to save him. He wished it had been one whose moral compass wasn’t already broken. He wished it had been any one of the feathered bastards but Castiel, because Castiel was weak, and Dean made him weaker, and Dean hated himself for it. He knew that it was his fault Castiel was falling. Knew that it was his fault that the grace fueling Castiel’s mojo wasn’t _his._

That thought made his stomach twist as well.

He tried to hide it in alcohol, tried to hide it in anger, his longing for Castiel, but he couldn’t. He never could. Even with the Mark burning against his arm, itching like an infected wound, pounding against his skull like an angry lover – he couldn’t forget how much he wanted,how much he _needed_ Castiel.

The thing Dean wanted the absolute most was to forget.

He’d never tell Castiel, not even on his death bed, but he remembered. He remembered more of Hell than he wanted anyone to know about, even though they already did, but that wasn’t the part he didn’t want Castiel to find out about.

He didn’t want to Castiel to know that Dean remembered _him._

It hadn’t been solid, at first. The memories had come back in flashes, little hints in his dreams. Hell was as fresh as fruit straight off the tree, but this was different. This was light, and warmth, and _not_ a part of his usual nightmares.

It was months before he figured out that what he was seeing was Cas.

When the dream became more solid, when the memories started forming into coherent sequences, Dean knew he _should_ have been terrified. Everything in these dreams was white, washed out with brightness, and too, too warm, almost scalding, but he felt safe. Safer than he ever did when he was awake.

Eventually, the blinding brightness was replaced with tangible things – the first thing that Dean recognized was eyes. There were hundreds of them, and they were everywhere, and they were glowing, and when Dean woke up he was panting for air. He knew he should be horrified, like a normal human, but instead of scared, he was _awed._ He’d seen Castiel, in Hell. He’d seen Castiel as an angel, not just a comet trapped in a human meat suit.

After the first revelation, the dreams became what Dean lived for. He wanted to remember. He wanted to see Castiel in all his glory, and his memories, his dreams, they were the only place he could do it in. The more he remembered, he more his attachment to Cas grew, and he couldn’t pretend anymore. He didn’t have to admit it to anyone else, but he did have to admit it to himself.

He was more than just Castiel’s charge, or his friend, or even his brother. He was much, much more to Castiel than that, and Castiel was much more than that to him.

He was Castiel’s, in every sense of the word. Their bond was much more than profound, as Cas had put it so long ago. Dean remembered the feeling of being put back together, the sensation of Castiel not only healing his soul, but rebuilding his body from nothing but the atoms around them. He remembered it, and it was the most intense thing he’d ever experienced.

It even drowned out the Mark, and Dean was not about to ignore the significance of that.

 

 _spilled milk tears,_  
i _did this for you_  
 _spilling over the idol_  
 _the black and the blue_

 

Sometimes, Castiel regretted all that he’d done for Dean.

He’d given up his brothers and sisters; he’d more or less denounced his father; he’d killed more than he’d ever want to count.

All for one flawed human, and the sake of choice.

Castiel knew it was worth it, of course. He’d always known it was worth it, even when it hurt. Even when he and Dean betrayed each other, the pain, the danger, the longing…it was all worth it, in the end, if Castiel could see Dean happy.

And he had, a few times. They had been small moments, but they had been as real as Castiel’s own body; there had been moments of relief, when Dean would grin and it was real, and sincere, and for a moment, they were happy.

Each and every one had been torn from them, ripped from their throats with a bloody fight, but that didn’t dim their significance. Sometimes, Castiel regretted all that he’d done for and to Dean, and all that Dean had done for and to him.

But in the long run, he thought, it didn’t matter. They would always have each other, no matter how hard the journey. No matter how hard God, or the universe, or whatever there was out there, tried to tear them apart.

They would always return to each other.

 

_the sweetest submission,_   
_drinking it in…_   
_the wine, the women, the bedroom hymns_

 

Dean was more than acquainted with this ritual, but this time was so different that it took his breath away.

Castiel’s stubble was rough, a light burn against Dean’s throat, but he didn’t really care. Not when Cas was holding him like this, mouthing at his throat like a dying man, letting Dean take what he wanted.

And oh, how he wanted.

Dean’s fingers trembled as he pushed Cas’ trench coat away, continued trembling even as he tangled them in the angel’s hair and moaned.

“Cas,” he breathed. “Cas.”

Castiel responded with a low growl, and then they were naked; Dean almost reprimanded him for using his limited mojo on something so trivial, but there were much more pressing matters at hand.

Such as Cas’ mouth on his, and their erections pressed together between them. Castiel tilted his hips, almost experimentally, and Dean groaned into the angel’s mouth, moving one hand down to grab at his ass.

“Cas,” he whispered again, sounding breathier this time. He sounded desperate, and if he was honest, he was. He wanted this.

He _needed_ this.

They were rutting together like teenagers, and Dean’s pride willed him to do something more progressive, but he couldn’t control himself. Castiel made him unravel without so much as a word.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, right into his ear, his blunt nails scraping against Dean’s scalp. Dean groaned and moved his hips faster. His chest swelled when he heard the way that Castiel’s breathing hitched.

“Dean,” Cas tried again, his voice barely more than a tire over gravel at this point. “Tell me what you want.”

“Need,” Dean corrected automatically, and turned his head to kiss the angel. He didn’t want to say it out loud, if he was honest with himself. Saying it out loud made it too real, made it something that could destroy him. But he would do it, for Cas, like he always did.

He’d do anything for Cas.

“I’ve seen you,” is what tumbled out of his mouth next, followed by a low moan when Cas bit at his pulse point. Dean’s nails dug into the flesh of Cas’ ass, and he shuddered when Castiel hissed against his throat. “I mean – you. Your – not your vessel, but –”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure why he was babbling all of this. Cas’ hips had slowed down against his, still churning, but softer now, almost as if he’d stopped thinking about what his body was doing. He probably had.

Cas’ voice was still wrecked gravel when he spoke. “What do you mean, Dean?”

Dean envied how put-together he sounded, even as Dean could feel his dick pulsing against his own. That thought derailed him for a moment, and it was several seconds before he spoke again.

“I remember,” he gasped lightly, trying to maintain some composure. All he wanted to do right now was lay down and spread his legs, and it wasn’t often that Dean got to that point. “I remember – in Hell –”

Castiel stopped him with a bruising kiss, and then Dean was being manhandled away from the wall and onto a bed. He gasped, and then moaned, a sound that tapered off into a whimper when Cas nibbled at his bottom lip.

“You remember when I saved you,” Cas finished for him.

 

’ _cause this is his body,_  
 _this is his love_  
 _such selfish prayers,_  
 _and_ i _can’t get enough_

 

Castiel’s head was spinning with the revelation that Dean remembered their first meeting, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to surrender his entire being to Dean in every way.

The first thing he did was suck no less than five hickeys into Dean’s neck and chest, growling at the way that Dean squirmed closer. Dean’s fingers on his shoulder and in his hair were more than enough to drive Castiel wild, and the accompaniment of whimpering and almost-begging words pushed him off of the edge.

He moved back up Dean’s chest to kiss him, groaning at the way Dean wrapped himself around Castiel’s body. Dean whimpered into their kiss, and Castiel thrust his hips, giving Dean the friction he was almost begging for in his mind. Castiel didn’t feel guilty about looking into Dean’s head, not right now.

Almost without warning, Castiel had found that he’d summoned lube into his hand. He could feel the way it drained his grace, how it ached somewhere near his sternum, but he ignored it in favor of sucking a new hickey into Dean’s throat.

Dean’s gasping words entwined with his equally desperate thoughts as Castiel trailed back down his body, and it was like music. Castiel wanted to listen to it forever.

“Cas, oh,” _please I think I love you,_ “Cas you – oh, there, that,” _my god how do you –_ “Fuck –” _oh, god,_ Cas….

Castiel was practically salivating by the time he settled on his stomach, between Dean’s legs. “Mine,” he hissed, against Dean’s hip. He felt the way Dean’s cock twitched at the word.

“Yours,” Dean agreed, and his jumbled thoughts continued, _I’ve always been his, haven’t I – oh, his hands feel so good, fuck…._

Castiel allowed himself a smirk, and continued on his work.

 

_i’m not here looking for absolution  
because i’ve found myself an old solution_

 

Dean keens when Cas pushes his first finger inside. He feels like he’s on fire, and he’s hyperaware of everything that’s happening. At the same time, he feels as if he can’t focus on anything but Castiel.

Castiel is in much the same state, chewing on his lip as he watches Dean’s body accommodate his finger. It’s just one, and he’s barely moved, but Dean is already begging with his body. His hips twist, and Castiel groans, crooking his finger just to hear Dean mewl.

“C’mon,” Dean gasps, feeling like he’s going to lose his mind. “W-want it, want you, Cas.”

Below him, Castiel groans, and lands a well-placed bite on a sensitive part of Dean’s inner thigh. He whimpers in response. The sound sends shivers down Castiel’s spine, and he starts moving, slowly at first.

He’s fascinated by that way Dean responds. At first there isn’t much but harsh panting, but when Castiel’s fingertip finds a hard little nub inside of him, he shouts and arches, trying to push himself further onto Castiel’s hand.

The sight makes his cock twitch with anticipation.

Dean is sure he’s losing his mind now, with the way Cas’ touch is sending electricity from his scalp to his toes. Every few times he thrusts his finger in, he brushes against Dean’s prostate, and Dean can’t help himself; he arches and screams, and he begs.

“Cas, please,” he whimpers, hands twisting in the sheets at his sides. “Baby, please, I need – _oh._ ”

Castiel chuckles when his second finger takes Dean’s speech away. “Like that?” he asks, unable to resist. Dean just gives a filthy moan and nods as he rocks his hips forward.

“Yeah,” he whimpers, stringing enough brain cells together to contract his muscles as he rocks. It makes it feel that much better, and he whimpers again. “J-just like th-that, Cas, _baby…._ ”

Castiel shudders at the way Dean’s voice breaks around moans, and suddenly, he needs to move faster before he loses it. His dick is aching, and he’s sure Dean’s is too. Without much thought, he adds a third finger – probably earlier than he should, by the way that Dean grunts – and sucks Dean’s dick into his mouth.

The echoing cry that results is completely worth it. Dean feels like he’s floating, buoyed by the slight pain in his ass as Cas opens him up and the wet heat surrounding his dick. He can’t focus on much more than tugging weakly on Cas’ hair when he’s too close.

“Cas, man, gonna – _fuck –_ gonna make me come,” he groans, but Cas doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he seems to dive in more enthusiastically. Dean whimpers.

Castiel can feel when Dean’s orgasm approaches, and he doesn’t let up. After searching for a second, he finds Dean’s prostate again and rubs at it consistently, loving the way that Dean’s thighs shake against his sides. He groans lowly when he feels Dean’s cock swell, and then his hunter is coming, and Castiel is swallowing hard enough to hurt.

Dean can’t even form words. Everything goes white, and then he can feel Cas’ throat working around him, _swallowing,_ and he’s pretty sure he’s never gonna come down. Eventually, though, he does, and it’s to find Cas looking up at him from between his legs, still knuckle deep inside him.

“Dammit,” Dean groans, biting his lip at the filthy look Cas is giving him. “I didn’t want to come so early.”

Castiel grins up at him, and without a word, bends down to lap at Dean’s balls. The sensation is a little sharp, but nice, and Dean whimpers as he cards his fingers through Cas’ hair.

Then Cas is moving his fingers, and Dean can feel himself hardening again. He gasps and moans in the same breath, Cas probing against his prostate as he sucks one of Dean’s testicles into his mouth.

Logically, Dean knows he can’t get hard again that fast. But he’s not really thinking about that, not when Cas pulls his fingers free and slicks up his cock. He does it obscenely, and Dean knows he’s putting on a show. He groans appreciatively.

Castiel takes a slow, deep breath as he lines himself up with Dean’s loose opening, leaning down to nibble at his hunter’s jaw. Slowly, slowly, he pushes in, reveling in the way that Dean falls apart under him.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned, focusing on clenching and releasing him muscles rhythmically. He wants Cas to come back forever, and he hopes he knows how to do that.

Castiel’s whimpering breath in response is an encouragement. They both sound wrecked, high-pitched and breathless as they moan. Castiel’s never heard anything more beautiful, and Dean wants to keep this forever.

“Please, Cas,” Dean finally breaks. “Cas, please, move.” He’s crawling out of his skin again, and he _needs._ Dean is sure he’d be embarrassed about this entire situation if he could think straight.

Castiel makes sure he never makes the decision to think straight again. With a low groan, he pulls out and slams home, making a strangled sound when he’s seated. He’s never felt this alive, really, and he wants more.

So he takes what he wants.

They move together, now, and Dean can’t keep his mouth shut. He’s whimpering and shouting and mumbling incoherent things into Cas’ ear, and Castiel is in much of the same state. His hips are moving at an almost punishing pace, and Dean is still clenching and unclenching around him, and he can’t think about anything but how good this feels, how good Dean feels.

Castiel wants to speak, wants to tell Dean every thought that’s ever crossed his mind, but Dean won’t stop kissing him. He’s getting close – he tells Cas so, between kisses, gasping it out almost like a prayer – and Cas tries to angle his hips right, shifting until he finds what he wants. As the head of his dick brushes against Dean’s prostate every other thrust, Dean keens and arches up, pushing himself harder against Cas’ thrusts.

That’s what sets him off. Castiel feels his orgasm twist and explode near the base of his spine, and without a second thought, he grasps at Dean’s shoulder where his handprint should be. The small sliver of grace in Dean’s soul connects, and Dean comes, too, arching up into Cas’ body with a scream.

Dean swears he can’t breathe. He’s being suffocated by pleasure, and it’s not ebbing away at all. He searches for Cas’ mouth with his own, whimpering when he finally finds it, and the pleasure intensifies. He can feel Cas’ thrusts slowing down, but he’s still – he’s still high on it, and he has the sneaking suspicion it’s Cas’ fault.

As he thinks it, the blinding white begins to ebb away, and he can breathe again. “It is,” Castiel murmurs in Dean’s ear, breathless. “It’s my fault.”

Dean feels boneless as he pulls Cas down to lay on him. They’re still connected at the hips, Cas softening inside him, but he’s not keen on moving. Castiel doesn’t want to move, either, and instead relaxes onto Dean’s chest, pressing his face into the hunter’s neck.

Dean nuzzles the angel’s ear, and smiles at the soft, pleased noise he makes. “You shouldn’t be using your grace like that, Cas. It has a limit.”

Castiel just grins against Dean’s shoulder. “Don’t care,” he mumbles, and promptly falls asleep.

Dean tries not to let himself worry about the fact that Cas is _sleeping_ , and drifts off himself.

 

 


End file.
